


Show, Don't Tell (+ art)

by chamyl, Ryoukon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (masturbating with the other person not knowing), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, F/F, Femme Aziraphale (Good Omens), Finger Sucking, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Getting Together, Grinding, Guilty Wank, Hair-pulling, Happy, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Love, Love Confessions, Making Love, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Romance, Shameless Smut, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Tender Sex, Tenderness, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, listen the world needs more wives I’m doing a public service here, passing mention of somnophilia, slight consent issue, vol au cums (tag credit @ Fyre)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryoukon/pseuds/Ryoukon
Summary: Her smell engulfs her. Has the angel slept in this bed, in this very same sheets? Or maybe – is this the room where she puts on her perfume? Crowley can imagine it, clear as day – the angel tilting her neck to the side, dabbing some perfume on the tips of her fingers and then pressing them to the pulse point beneath her jaw, on smooth, soft skin that looks like it'd taste of cream. The fantasy alone makes the demon’s breath hitch in her throat.She shouldn’t be doing this. She’s going to do it anyway, because she can’t help herself. She’ll clean everything up when she’s done and the angel will be none the wiser.💜Crowley wakes up alone in Aziraphale's bedroom after a night spent drinking together, and just can't help herself.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 559
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Show, Don't Tell (+ art)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mackaley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY GIRL RACHEL, ACTUAL RAY OF SUNSHINE IN HUMAN FORM. I hope you'll enjoy this. Uuuh, this is what happens when I ask how on the nose is too on the nose and I get told there's no 'too on the nose' :D
> 
> With many thanks to [azfellbooksellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azfellbooksellers/) for betaing this, not to mention all the lovely cheerleading 💕💕💕 and to [Mari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoukon), for being a dream to collab with and somehow managing to create out of nowhere exactly the scene I had in mind. I'm. I'm going to start crying hearts like an actual emoji, you guys.
> 
> 💥 BEWARE, NSFW ILLUSTRATION AHEAD 💥

She really shouldn’t be doing this.

She _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.

But Aziraphale’s bed smells so much like her it's overwhelming. Which is absurd, if Crowley stops to think about it, because she’s pretty sure she's never seen the angel sleep at all.

Crowley does. Crowley will sleep through the night – or through a century or two, if she feels like it.

But she’s generally very careful to never fall asleep in Aziraphale’s bookshop – or around Aziraphale at all. She’s not a big fan of the idea that the angel could be watching as she snores or drools or, Hell forbid, mutters something she shouldn’t in her sleep.

In her defence, yesterday they drank way too much, and when she felt the warmth of sleep weighing heavy on her eyelids she figured the angel would throw a blanket on her and leave her be on the couch downstairs. She figured she’d wake up the next morning, thank Aziraphale for letting her stay the night, and leave as quickly as possible.

But that didn’t happen. What happened instead was that Aziraphale lifted her up in those strong, lovely arms of hers and carried her upstairs, deposited her in her bed, and pulled the covers over her.

Or, at least, that’s what Crowley assumes must have happened. She bitterly regrets not being awake to experience being held and carried in the angel’s arms. It can’t have been hard for Aziraphale, the demon barely weighs a thing – she’s nothing but a bunch of sharp angles wrapped up in black leather. And, underneath, a heart that wants too much and too badly, barely hidden behind sarcastic remarks and well-practiced shrugs.

Crowley woke up on her stomach, half-suffocated into the angel’s soft pillow. Way too soft, like a cloud plucked right off the sky, a pattern of tiny blue flowers all over it. Aziraphale’s sense of style and her penchant for tartan is ridiculous, antiquate, and yet so incredibly _hers_ , and Crowley hates to admit she can’t help but love it exactly for that reason.

A pavlovian reaction to tartan. Great.

On her back, fingers skimming lightly down her chest, Crowley takes in the room around her. The embroidered curtains that have to be at least fifty years old. The many shelves, heavy with books and trinkets, not a speck of dust on them somehow. The mahogany closet that, she’s sure, holds much more than a closet that size has any right to hold – surely through the use of a frivolous miracle. The artwork on the nightstand – a vintage piece from the 1920s, maybe, a beautiful golden clock held up by two crystal statuettes of angels, their robes flowing freely over their breasts, waists, hips.

It’s _so_ Aziraphale. A collection of things she saw and liked and decided to keep forever.

Her smell engulfs her. Has the angel slept in this bed, in this very same sheets? Or maybe – is this the room where she puts on her perfume? Crowley can imagine it, clear as day – the angel tilting her neck to the side, dabbing some perfume on the tips of her fingers and then pressing them to the pulse point beneath her jaw, on smooth, soft skin that looks like it'd taste of cream. The fantasy alone makes the demon’s breath hitch in her throat.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She’s going to do it anyway, because she can’t help herself. She’ll clean everything up when she’s done and the angel will be none the wiser.

She pushes her tight jeans down, sneaks a hand underneath her sheer black panties, lets out a shaky sigh of relief when she finds herself already hot and sopping wet.

God and Satan, what would the angel say if she saw? She’d be horrified. She’d scrunch up her nose, open that pink, lovely mouth of hers in shock before scolding her. _Foul fiend, wily demon, temptress, scoundrel_. Well, Crowley is really proving her right at the moment, isn’t she? Touching herself in Aziraphale’s bed – quietly, secretly, hoping the angel won’t find out and yet somehow, madly, also hoping against all reason that the angel will. She sinks a finger inside herself as she pictures Aziraphale coming through the door, lying in bed next to her, watching her touch herself with a mix of shock and excitement painted on her face.

She’s seen Aziraphale eat – well, most things at this point. Never could help wondering what those lips would feel like against her inner thighs, lavishing kisses on sensitive skin, then pressed to the very heat of her. Would she be fast and greedy? Would she haul Crowley’s knees over her shoulders and shamelessly lick into her, making her shake and thrash until she’s taken her fill? Or would she be gentle, curious, taking her sweet, sweet time exploring every inch of her, butterfly-light kisses on her mound and folds until Crowley would be the one begging for it, fingers tightening in the angel’s white gold curls, dragging her closer?

Crowley feels her slick slowly dripping down. Aziraphale’s pure white linen sheets, stained by Crowley’s arousal as she masturbates in the angel’s bed – the mere idea is so utterly filthy it sends a new shock of pleasure tangled with guilt up her spine, and it’s so much she can hardly bear it.

Two fingers in now, the noise of them so quiet and yet so perfectly audible in the dead silence of the room.

And then, steps, just outside the door, and a quiet knock, and Crowley stills her hand immediately.

She presses her arm flat against her body, hopes it isn’t too obvious under the covers.

“Come in.”

The angel steps in and gives her a long, intense look. Crowley is not sure what she sees, but Aziraphale hesitates for a long moment before turning her gaze away.

Which doesn’t mean anything – Crowley avoids panicking, maybe Aziraphale is just flustered to see her in her bed. Things have been… well, there’s always been this _tension_ between them, particularly since they averted the Apocalypse and became free. Free to love each other, in whatever ways they might choose, free to take different shapes and identities, if they so wish.

Crowley is perfectly aware she’s the worst – as she wriggles her finger inside her, unable to stop herself.

“I-I came to see how you were doing, my dear,” Aziraphale says, marching to the window and pulling the curtains open – hearing Crowley wince at the sudden burst of sunlight and closing them again. “You were in quite a shape last night.”

“All better now,” Crowley croaks out, despite feeling feverish. “Thanks.”

Aziraphale turns her gaze to her, and the demon presses the ball of her thumb against herself.

_She’s the worst._

“So glad to hear it,” Aziraphale says, her eyes wrinkling at the edges. Crowley would do _anything_ to be able to kiss those wrinkles. “If you wish to have breakfast, you’ll find me downstairs.”

Crowley nods, and the angel walks back towards the door.

She has her hand on the handle, ready to leave, when Crowley hears her own voice beg.

“Angel, please,” she sighs out, and the rest of the sentence dies in her throat. She sounds desperate, breathless, exhausted. Which is fair - she does feel as if she’s been running for a long time and can’t go any longer. Just – if only she could be taken in hand now, guided along. If things could just be simple, for once. And she’s still so hot and wet around her own finger, so close to an orgasm she can feel it thrumming under her skin, it's hard to think at all.

Aziraphale stops, her back turned to her. Her shoulders shift underneath her shirt, tensing up. But, when she turns around, her unsure expression gradually hardens into something wholly different – firm, determined, and absolutely bloody gorgeous. The face of someone who’s made a decision.

She comes to sit on the bed next to Crowley, and the demon almost chokes on her own spit. She wasn’t even sure what she was asking, but somehow Aziraphale seems to have understood the gist of it anyway.

The angel slowly reaches out, running her thumb along Crowley’s bottom lip. The demon is vaguely aware she’s just opened her mouth and moaned, her eyes fluttering close.

“What have you been doing in my bed, you naughty thing?”

It’s asked softly, with extreme fondness, and all the more devastating for it.

This is not the first time this happens, Crowley realises with a jolt.

A month ago, at the French restaurant on the other side of the city that it’s so good it’s absolutely worth the commute: Aziraphale pushing a glass of champagne in her hand, ordering: “Try this.” Looking awfully smug and red in the face when Crowley complied.

A week ago, in Crowley’s flat, when the demon had gotten dirt on her face while showing Aziraphale how to repot a plant, and the angel had grabbed her chin in her warm, soft hand, and held it tightly as she said: “Stay still.” She’d got a handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned the demon’s face, and all the while Crowley had not moved a muscle. Hadn’t even breathed at all.

Last night: “Eat.” When the angel fed her a chocolate from her own fingers, breathing out softly when Crowley’s lips brushed against her fingertips for a long moment.

Crowley had told herself, over and over, to not read anything into this. That it didn’t necessarily mean anything. That she couldn’t risk going too fast again.

But now her better judgement flies out the window as she wraps her free hand around the angel’s wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Aziraphale,” she says, her lips brushing the angel’s skin. A plea. They’ve been moving towards this for thousands of years and now, at the finish line, in the doorway between their old life and the new one, Crowley finds herself terrified.

Maybe nothing will change. Maybe everything will.

She can’t move. Can’t risk fucking this up. She needs to be lead, to be told exactly what to do.

For all the miracles they do every single day, the most incredible of all is the spark of understanding that flickers between them right now. Aziraphale has known Crowley for thousands of years. Knows all the sweet, vulnerable parts of her she constantly struggles to hide, and every single one of her rough edges. Knows how Crowley can be endlessly brave – until it’s too much, until she throws in the towel, whether it’s in a pub surrounded by too many empty bottles of wine or on the hard cement of a military base.

“Would you let me be the one to lead,” Aziraphale asks softly, “in this particular dance?”

Crowley nods, grasping at the angel’s hand, a drowning sailor clinging to a lifeline.

“Would you like me to take care of you, my darling?” Aziraphale murmurs, so gently, and Crowley nods again, her throat burning with all the words she doesn’t manage to say. _More than anything_.

“Can I see your other hand?” Aziraphale asks, and only then does Crowley slide her hand out of her own underwear and bring it up and out of the covers. Her face burns with shame as she looks at it, two fingers clearly glistening in the morning light.

The angel reaches out, takes the wet fingers into her velvet-soft mouth, and moans around them.

“Fuck,” Crowley breathes out, her hips shifting of their own accord under the covers.

“Hmm – best thing I have ever tasted,” Aziraphale purrs, right before running her tongue between Crowley’s pointer and middle finger.

Crowley has never been so turned on before in her entire existence, as she stares at the marks of lipstick the angel has left all over her hand. Her heart pounds in her chest and she hears herself letting out a long whimper at Aziraphale’s words. She’s stunned and aroused in equal measure, and there is only one thing she's sure about: if Aziraphale doesn’t to touch her _right now_ she might discorporate.

Luckily, the angel seems to agree.

“Would you like to turn around for me? On your…” Aziraphale hesitates for a moment, breathes in, continues, “On your knees for me? Face down, if you please.”

It takes Crowley a second or two to process the request. Then she’s moving, way too quickly, way too eager, her long, uncoordinated limbs almost tangling in the sheets as she changes positions. She stands on her knees, then bends down until her cheek is pressed to the mattress.

Somehow, Crowley realises how exposed she is only when Aziraphale runs a slow hand along the curve of her arse, pulling her soaked underwear down until it’s rolled down under her butt cheeks. Aziraphale twists the sheer fabric in her hand until it digs into the flesh of Crowley’s thighs, and the demon hisses as she reaches in front of her to hold tightly to the wrought iron of the headboard.

“Unbearably lovely,” Aziraphale’s voice is a puff of hot breath against her skin, making goosebumps raise all over her thighs, “Gorgeous. I can’t believe I managed to resist your wiles for so long.”

“Angel,” Crowley begs again, unable to say anything else, curving her back farther, exposing herself as much as she possibly can, desperately hot and wet and between her legs and aching for relief.

“Yes, my dear—my _dearest_ ,” Aziraphale corrects herself, and Crowley has no time to process what the new endearment might mean before the angel is pressing two fingers into her.

The iron of the headboard bends in her grip, and Crowley thinks in a haze she’ll have to fix it later, but right now – every thought of hers is consumed by the feeling of Aziraphale’s warm, slick fingers moving inside her, pulling out and pushing back in, hard and fast just perfect, just how she likes it – just how she _needs_ it right now. Aziraphale’s breath has become shallow and quick, almost louder than the utterly obscene sound of the fingers thrusting into her, and Crowley can’t believe this is all for her. Aziraphale is aroused just from watching her, touching her. And she, she hasn’t even touched the angel… yet. Will she get to touch her? Satan, she _has_ _to_ touch her, the thought alone—

Aziraphale curls her fingers, presses down, and Crowley's train of thought explodes into a million stars behind her eyes, pleasure mercilessly rippling through her body. She pushes back without shame against Aziraphale’s hand, letting out a long, loud moan as her orgasm hits her, shaking her to her very core. Aziraphale keeps touching her through it, and Crowley can’t help it – she gushes all over the angel’s hand and her own inner thighs.

When she comes back, she hazily realises she’s drooled on her pillow and cheek, and that she’s holding Aziraphale’s hand tightly between her legs. She lets it go and lets herself fall forward, flat on the bed, completely spent. She doesn’t usually manage to come in under a minute, and vaguely wonders if she should have held back, showed the angel she can last longer – but it wasn’t possible, not with Aziraphale’s hand and gaze on her, not with her fingers so deep inside her.

Her head still spinning, she looks back over her shoulder, hoping the angel isn’t looking at her horrified.

Far from it, Aziraphale is running her tongue along the side of her finger, tasting her once more, and the sight of it is enough that Crowley thinks she might come again, untouched. Does Aziraphale realise what she’s doing to her? Is the angel aware Crowley is losing her goddamned mind here?

“Please,” she croaks out, turning around and crawling towards the angel, who’s still buttoned up to her neck. “Let me… whatever you want, angel. Anything. I need to— _please_.”

Not her best speech, admittedly, but it’s tough to be eloquent when every rational thought has been fucked right out of her brain and she’s left with nothing but raw need – to touch, to please.

Aziraphale stands up, unbuttoning her skirt and sliding it down her legs. Crowley’s mouth is incredibly dry, and she struggles to swallow back down a needy sound as her gaze takes in the pale, bare skin of the angel's thighs, the old-fashioned stockings with lace garters – and immediately she has to get up, wriggling out of her jeans and underwear in a rush and almost toppling Aziraphale off her feet as she pushes her to the closest wall and drops to her knees in front of her.

The angel fists her hair tight, holding her just an inch away from the heat between her legs. Crowley closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of her, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“You have been so patient, so good,” Aziraphale tells her, warm honey voice soothing all the rawest parts of her. “Always so good for me.”

“Ye _sss_ ,” Crowley hisses out, straining against the angel’s hold on her hair. Her hands reach out to touch Aziraphale’s legs, fingers running over her thin stockings, up to the lace around her plump thighs. It’s surreal. It’s perfect. “Let me…”

“Go ahead,” the angel says, her voice shaking on the last word as her grip on Crowley slips, and the demon presses forward, an eager hand pushing Aziraphale’s lacy underwear aside – and then Crowley is tasting her, finally, pressing her tongue and lips against her.

Aziraphale is incredibly warm, and - _fuck_ , already drenched.

It’s the angel’s turn to squirm and whimper, and Crowley drinks in every little sound, commits it to memory to keep it forever. The angel’s hands are in her hair again, clinging desperately to her as Crowley lifts one of her knees over her shoulder to be able to sink her tongue into her.

She’s tempted to stop time, spend a small eternity right here, just like this. Warm and safe and wanted, her hands and mouth full of the only being she’s ever loved, finally hers to touch. Because – this isn’t a one-off, is it? There is no way they could go back to what they were, now that they know—now that they have _this_.

Crowley opens her eyes, looks up: Aziraphale’s heaving chest, the buttons of her shirt straining against her breasts, and the demon can’t help picturing what it’d be like popping them open one by one, unwrapping her slowly, explore every inch of her skin. Next time? There has to be a next time.

She sneaks a single long finger inside her and Aziraphale bears down on it, hedonist that she is – and Crowley closes her lips around her clit, sucks gently, then harder when the angel’s hand pushes her face impossibly closer. That’s fine, she doesn’t need to breathe, doesn’t want to breathe: what she wants is to make absolutely sure Aziraphale can’t go anymore without this. Crowley will do this every morning, if she’s allowed. Wake the angel up with an orgasm or two – start the day right. She’ll do this in the middle of the day, sneak under Aziraphale’s desk and give her a thorough seeing to. She’ll come in the shower with her, wash her thoroughly, then lay her on the bed and lick every inch of her, make sure she’s nice and filthy all over again. She’ll wake up in the middle of the night to the angel next to her, press her hand between Aziraphale’s legs through the soft material of her pyjamas, give her the best of dreams. She’ll give her anything she wants, anything at all.

This isn’t even over, and already she’s fantasised about a whole life together. She can’t stop herself, her brain has short-circuited and she’s lost all control over her own fantasies.

She’s brought back to reality hard when Aziraphale suddenly clenches around her finger, goes completely still and silent for a few moments, and then shakes.

Crowley closes her eyes, keeps moving her tongue, and enjoys every single blessed second of it, until Aziraphale's trembling subsides. She's just about to pull back when the angel drags her close again.

“Please, Crowley, oh Lord, I need you, please keep going—” and Crowley does. She adds another finger, then licks the hot strip from her own knuckle up to the angel’s clit. And, once again, Aziraphale stills, holds in a breath, and then shakes, gripping Crowley's hair tightly and letting out a long wail of pleasure, uncaring of anyone who might hear. This moment, this exact moment - Crowley will never be able to forget it, ever. Finally, the angel breathes out and unclenches around her.

Crowley doesn’t wait to be asked a second time: instead of pulling back, she keeps going. There’s no clear pattern now, there can’t be, her mind has gone completely blank, can’t possibly process all that is happening. All she knows, all she can think about is Aziraphale – nothing else exists. The movement of her fingers is erratic, and she’s leaving sloppy kisses all over, but whatever she’s doing, it seems more than enough for the angel to have her third orgasm in a row, trembling and whining high in her throat before exhaling a weak _fuck_ and finally pulling on Crowley’s hair gently to stop her.

Crowley now knows what Aziraphale sounds like – what Aziraphale _tastes like_ when she comes. There’s no going back from this. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and looks up at her lover.

Aziraphale is breathing hard as she unhooks the clip on the garter of her left thigh, tugging it into the belt at her waist so that it’s out of the way. Crowley is puzzled by why she’d do this only for a moment before the angel is asking her up.

“Come here,” she says, and Crowley obeys immediately. “I need—oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale sighs, and the way she Crowley’s name makes the demon want to curl up inside that word, that small exhale of warm air, and make it her new home.

And then Aziraphale is pulling her close and kissing her – for the first time ever. And they both taste like each other, and a little like the angel’s lipstick, pink candy sweet, and Crowley's head spins.

The angel flips them over and pushes her against the wall, lodging her bare thigh firmly between the demon’s legs.

Crowley gasps and clutches at Aziraphale’s shirt – the angel’s stocking has rolled down leaving nothing but hot skin to press against her, rubbing up into her, and it’s that as much as it is Aziraphale’s tongue in her mouth and the angel’s hands everywhere – on her cheeks, her shoulders, sneaking under her shirt and cupping her breasts, gripping her hips tightly – that has Crowley come hard again against her thigh, one last _angel_ uttered directly into Aziraphale’s mouth.

Crowley holds her for a long time as she catches her breath. She never wants to let go. This – this is perfect. Her skin still buzzing with pleasure, her angel in her arms – dishevelled, half-naked, lipstick a vague pink memory around her lips.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes out, and it’s so soft, barely a whisper. “Crowley,” she says again, cupping the demon’s cheeks in her hands. “You must already know this, but I have to say it aloud. I am afraid I’m quite terribly in love with you.”

Crowley gapes, her mouth moving around a silent noise. All air has left her lungs.

Aziraphale waits, patiently, although her gaze flutters all over, looking for an answer when words have once again deserted Crowley.

“I thought,” the angel says, averting her eyes, “I must confess I rather thought you felt the same.”

“Yes,” Crowley manages, and it’s too quick, booming too loudly in the silence of the room, “Yes. I do. _That_. I do, angel. I do.”

Crowley sees Aziraphale’s trademark bastard smile blooming on her face and knows that she’s about to say something a little mischievous before the angel even speaks. “You do—what _exactly_ , my darling?”

Crowley smiles back, something warm and tender finally unfolding in her chest. Maybe she can trust this. Maybe this isn’t a dream – maybe this really just happened. Maybe this finally, finally happened.

“I would rather show you,” she says, taking Aziraphale’s hand in hers and kissing her knuckles, “Every day, for that matter.”

Aziraphale’s smile could power up a city. It reaches deep, finds every dark corner of Crowley’s soul, fills it with light.

“I think I would very much like that,” she says, and kisses her again.


End file.
